


Cigarettes

by tatyafinwe



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 04:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11639373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatyafinwe/pseuds/tatyafinwe
Summary: They met because of a cigarette.





	Cigarettes

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [菸](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11586096) by [Yianchin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yianchin/pseuds/Yianchin). 



_Men look up to the sky. We look it right in the eye._

  

"Pardon?"

Collins could hardly hear him. This was the final check before operation. The engines were howling nearby, building an invisible barrier between them.

"Don't you agree?" Thumbs crossed, the other pilot gestured his hands like a bird flying in front of his chest. People who didn't know him would say that he had the hands of a professional athlete. And he might have been, if not for the war that changed his path, changed everything. "We are parallel to the sky. We are right there _in_ the sky!"

That was a poetic thought, and if not for the bullets that might soon peel through their canopies and fuel gauges, Collins would have dwelled on it a little longer. Instead, he lowered his head and inhaled some smoke, allowing his mate to see his smile behind the sparks.

 

 

The first time they met it was because of another cigarette, under another sky.

"Boys" right before battle--either out of fear or out of ambition--were particularly crude. Smelling his light cigarette with a mint scent, they mocked Collins ruthlessly. 

"Such a cunt…Hey! Do you want to pump my 'gun' beforehand? With it we’re going to crush the Jerries!"

"You must be joking. You could be enjoying your 'honeymoon' in jail!"

Embarrassed, he pinched the mouth of the cigarette but did not know what to do next. Not far away were the squadron leader and other officers. They glanced sideways at the crowd, but did not intervene, probably murmuring something like "another group of stupid flyboys."

But Farrier came. He jumped off his plane, hair damped from the helmet, the shape of goggles marked around his eyes. He took the cigarette from his hand and took a drag. Then he grabbed an unused cigarette from Collins' pocket, and lighted it with the one that he had already stuck back in Collins’ mouth.

"Just about the right amount. Strong enough for our kind, yet not too much to choke one inside the plane."

It was a joke, for no one dared smoking when flying a plane in action. There were countless better ways to commit suicide than this one, since before they could choke to death, they would first suffer in the hands of their squadron leader. But coming out of Farrier’s mouth, it feels nothing wrong with those words.

As if his flight is like a cigarette, light and smooth.

 

 

"Give me another cigarette. I will give you back after the flight."

"Okay. But this is the last one in the pack."

"How about yours?"

"I've already finished it. I was quite nervous."

Collins did not have the heart to joke or lie. He rubbed his sweating fingers, looking towards his Spitfire. Most of the pilots who laughed at him then were not flying. Many of them would never fly again.

"How many men can we save?"

Sparks left the cigarette dying, falling on the boots of Farrier, speaking louder than his silence, digging deeper than Collins' thoughts.

He was not thinking about anything; he could not think about anything; he could not think of a sky without Farrier.

"It's hard to tell. The war…" The pilot put out the cigarette which still had half of its length. He put it in the pocket in front of his left chest, secured under his flight jacket.

Farrier did not get rid of the last bit of cigarette ash on his boots, for he could feel the eyes fixed on him. Inside Collins' eyes was a hint of a cold steel, cold as the empty cigarette pack, firm as the bullet shells after firing.

"I will save this last half for you,” he smiled and patted his pocket, feeling the shape of the cigarette beneath it. "Would you mind?" 

"No. But you owe me one." 

"Wait for my return."

 

 


End file.
